


No Words Can Explain (The Way I’m Missing You)

by faith2727



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faith2727/pseuds/faith2727
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin visits the lakeshore every year on the anniversary of Arthur’s death. He usually spends his time there thinking about the day Arthur will return to him, but on this occasion, things go a little differently. A Merlin and Arthur reunion, if only in Merlin’s dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Words Can Explain (The Way I’m Missing You)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.
> 
> Author's note: This is my first time writing in the Merlin fandom, which is an equally exciting and terrifying prospect. :) There are so many crazy-talented people in this fandom, and I'm having a blast perusing the amazing stories and artwork they have to offer!
> 
> Story inspiration (and title) courtesy of Sam Smith's gorgeous/heartbreaking song "Lay Me Down."
> 
> Sending many, many thanks to the lovely [daroh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh) for the beta and for introducing me to the wonderful world of Merlin!!! <3

_One day I will be where I was, right there, right next to you_

Merlin walks along a familiar path, one he’s travelled on so many occasions he could easily do it in his sleep. Probably has, in fact. There’s no one to stop him from sleepwalking anymore, after all.

He always pauses at the same spot on his way to the lakeshore. Stops and swallows hard, thinking about how he lost him, right here in his arms, all those years ago. No matter how much time passes, the memory remains as vivid as the day it happened. The pain is still sharp, agonizing if he lets it sink in for too long.

The sun disappeared beneath the horizon hours before, but his way is lit by the ethereal glow of a full moon, not that he needs it. He takes a moment to admire the reflection of the moonlight as it ripples on the lake’s surface, the water stirred to life by the breeze. He checks for stars, but they’re dim and lackluster compared to the moon’s brilliance. It’s a shame, really. He could use a few wishes tonight.

He settles in his chosen place on the soft, dew-dampened grass and imagines that there’s an imprint of his body left behind from the hundreds of times he’s sat here, lain here, drifted off to sleep here. Maybe the earth remembers him and embraces him like a long-lost friend when he returns.

These pilgrimages have one purpose: to be near him. To feel close to him again.

Arthur.

Merlin doesn’t say his name aloud much anymore, but it’s a permanent fixture in his mind—a mantra of sorts that he repeats over and over when the ache in his chest keeps him awake at night.

He plucks a pebble off the ground and tosses it into the water, staring intently at the island that serves as Arthur’s resting place. He often wonders if Arthur can sense when he’s here, impossible as it seems. Does he know how Merlin reminisces about the happiest years of his life, sometimes even mustering a smile when he brings up a favorite memory—one of the many he has stored away for safekeeping?

_Merlin stood at Arthur’s bedside, admiring the sleeping prince, particularly the way the shadows played over his cheekbones and jawline—a jawline Merlin was eager to trace with his lips and tongue._

_“Watching me while I sleep?” Arthur asked without opening his eyes, unknowingly allowing Merlin a few more moments of appreciation._

_“Uh, no, sire,” Merlin whispered, although he wasn’t sure why he did so. Arthur was already awake. “It’s the, erm . . . the woodworms.” He hastily grabbed Arthur’s goblet off the table and turned it upside down, holding it flush to the headboard while he tapped the wood’s surface and listened intently for his imaginary nemesis._

_“Not that nonsense again,” Arthur groaned._

_Before Merlin could argue, a pair of arms wrapped around him and dragged him down on top of the bedding, and Arthur himself, not that Camelot’s future king seemed to mind. Merlin’s gaze locked on Arthur’s, and he held his breath, waiting for Arthur to either send him away or act on what was certainly a promising start to much more enjoyable activities._

_“How many times do I have to tell you, Merlin? If you insist on skulking about my chambers at all hours of the night, the least you could do is offer me some warmth. There’s a chill in the air.” He trailed his fingers across Merlin’s brow and down over his cheek, finally coming to a stop at his lips. Arthur’s touch was warm, and Merlin realized the prince had a ploy of his own._

_“Feeling cold, are you?” Merlin murmured against Arthur’s fingertips, pressing a kiss there._

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“And you want me to do something about it?”_

_“Mmhmm.”_

_“Your father wouldn’t be happy if you were to fall ill.”_

_“Definitely not.”_

_“But you’re already using me as a blanket.”_

_“Stop stalling, Merlin.”_

Merlin’s skin heats anew as he recalls how that had been Arthur’s last complaint of the night. As it turned out, he was quite adept at keeping Arthur nice and toasty, a skill—along with many others—the prince had quickly come to cherish.

A sudden gust of wind ruffles his hair and chases away the warmth of remembrance. He shivers in the aftermath, wishing he’d brought a thermos of tea with him. Running his hand over the ground, he finds an assortment of twigs and dried leaves, just enough to suit his purpose. He arranges them into a pile and focuses on the bits of wood. Blue eyes flash gold, and a flame jumps to life, licking hungrily at the leaves until he’s sitting in front of a small blaze.

Without thinking, he raises a hand and whispers a spell he promised himself he wouldn’t use again—two words that had conjured the proof he’d needed to make Arthur believe he was indeed a sorcerer. He watches as the silhouette of a dragon rises from the fire and wings through the air, circling Merlin twice before disintegrating in a shower of sparks. He refuses to acknowledge the pang of grief that slices into him like the keenest blade, choosing instead to flick at a few pieces of ash that have landed on his sleeve.

He lets the fire burn until a lone flame is all that remains. Once it dies out and the embers cool, he takes off his jacket. Wadding it into a makeshift pillow, he holds it behind his head and sinks back into the grass.

Merlin stares at the sky overhead—with its too-bright moon and faded stars—for a minute or two before closing his eyes, shutting out everything but thoughts of the man he loves. He lets his mind wander down a well-worn path as he contemplates what it will be like on the day Arthur returns to Albion, to him.

There will be so many things to discuss: oddities to explain, history to unpack. The world’s a much different place now; so different that he’s sure Arthur will find it utterly foreign. His lips quirk with a hint of a grin as he pictures Arthur’s brow furrowing while he listens to the words spilling from Merlin’s mouth, wondering all along if his lover and sometime manservant has gone mad in his absence.

“You do that quite a bit in your sleep, you know that? I spent many a night trying to figure out what you were dreaming about that made you smile so,” interrupts a voice Merlin’s been desperate to hear for far too long.

He stills, his next breath catching in his throat. Something brushes his hand, and then fingers intertwine with his in an all-too-familiar fashion. Eyes snapping open, he bolts upright, trying to find purchase on the slippery grass with his free hand. When he finally succeeds in steadying himself, he gapes at the man lying beside him, an arm tucked behind his head and his fingers threaded through Merlin’s trembling ones.

“You,” Merlin manages, the single whispered word as shaky as his limbs.

Arthur smiles, and Merlin can’t remember how to breathe, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to again. “I always suspected that might be it. Couldn’t get enough of me in your waking hours, so you invited me into your dreams.”

Merlin exhales at last, and it’s a choking sound mixed with an uneven laugh. “Even after all this time . . . you’re still a prat,” he marvels.

“You expected I’d be different?”

“No, I suppose not.” He studies Arthur, lets his eyes roam over the long, lean body clothed in brown trousers and a loose tunic in the signature Pendragon red. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“What’s that?”

“Dreaming.”

“Could be.” Arthur raises himself up on an elbow and looks at their joined hands, then back up at Merlin. “The important thing is not to waste it.”

Arthur tugs gently, and Merlin lets himself fall back. He turns onto his side and Arthur does the same. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Their chests rise and fall in unison, Merlin’s breathing gradually calming. He breaks the silence, freeing his hand from Arthur’s so he can brush a stray piece of hair off his forehead. “It’s been so long, and yet, when I do this—” He trails off, cupping Arthur’s face and rubbing his thumb over a prominent cheekbone. “It feels like no time has passed at all, like we’re back in your chambers trying to make the most of every second before anyone notices you’re missing.”

Arthur stays quiet but leans into Merlin’s caress. “There was never enough time, was there?” he finally asks. “Always some feast, or council meeting, or dispute that needed my attention. What I really wanted was to tumble you back into my bed and spend the rest of the day lost in more pleasurable pursuits.” He cocks a brow, and Merlin knows his cheeks are blazing red, perfectly matched with Arthur’s tunic.

Merlin doesn’t mean to ruin the moment, but his next words blurt out of him before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. “Days, months . . . years drag by without you. It’s all so mundane and . . . useless, like background noise. I just keep waiting, hoping that tomorrow you’ll return to me.” He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head, quickly scrubbing away a tear.

A hand curls around the back of Merlin’s neck and tugs him downward. He feels the press of soft lips against his and opens his eyes. He’s greeted by the dark blue of Arthur’s irises, striking even in the dim light. “Don’t think about that now. I’m right here,” Arthur murmurs, leaning in to recapture Merlin’s mouth. He’s more insistent this time, his tongue tracing the seam of Merlin’s lips until he opens for him with a small gasp.

A distant part of Merlin’s mind knows this isn’t real, that his subconscious has placed Arthur here beside him, but he doesn’t care. He needs this too much, needs the closeness, the connection they share even though the other half of his soul still resides in the mysterious safe haven that is Avalon.

As Arthur deepens the kiss, Merlin loses himself in it, his tongue tangling with his king’s until both of them are breathless, their ragged panting unusually loud in the still night.

Merlin slips a hand under Arthur’s tunic, fingers ghosting over his torso and up to his chest. He pauses, enjoying the way the muscles contract beneath his touch, before placing his palm over Arthur’s heart. It beats steady and strong—and a little too fast, thanks to Merlin’s explorations.

He tries not to let reality intrude into their little corner of the dreamscape, but memories wash over him despite his best efforts, and he flashes back to the last time they were here on the lakeshore. He can see Arthur’s face so clearly, the handsome features pale and drawn as his wound slowly drained the life from him. Arthur’s final words to Merlin are something the world-weary sorcerer has carried with him ever since that fateful day.

Momentarily lost in recollections of the darkest day he’s ever known, Merlin starts when Arthur takes both of his hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. He glances up at Arthur, his vision blurry with unshed tears. “Sorry. I’m trying not to relive the past, but it keeps sneaking up on me,” he quietly confesses.

“Shut it out. Stay with me in the here and now.” Arthur pulls him into his arms, and Merlin goes eagerly, wanting to remain this way forever. He rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of Arthur’s hands as they caress his back in a comforting motion. His woodsy, masculine scent surrounds Merlin, and he breathes deep, savoring something so uniquely Arthur.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” Merlin whispers, turning his head so he can press a kiss to Arthur’s throat. Neither one moves for the longest time, but Merlin can feel the uneasiness of their imminent separation start to steal over him.

Arthur seems to sense the change in Merlin, and he loosens his hold, leaning back far enough so he can look Merlin in the eye. “I never said goodbye,” he murmurs. “It was intentional. I didn’t know how, but I believed we’d find our way back to each other. I still do.”

Merlin can’t speak, any words he would use lodged in his throat.

“Soon, Merlin. I can feel it. Just hold on a little longer.”

A sob escapes Merlin, and he pulls Arthur to him, holding on with every ounce of strength he possesses. He focuses on the warmth of Arthur’s body, on how wonderful it is to have him alive and in his arms once more, but everything is becoming hazy, gradually slipping away into the ether.

“No! Please don’t go,” Merlin cries, finding his voice in his desperation not to lose him again.

Something cold drips onto Merlin’s cheek, and he blinks, distracted by the odd sensation. When he glances around, he finds he’s by himself on the lakeshore. The moon has disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds, and light rain is drizzling down, clueing him into what it was that woke him from the dream.

Gathering his jacket, he tugs it back on and jogs up the path before he gets soaked. When he makes it to the roadside, he stops for a moment and glances back at Avalon, letting Arthur’s words seep into his aching heart.

“I’ll hold on,” Merlin echoes with a hint of hope. He can sense the truth in Arthur’s statement. His king will return, and Merlin won’t have to walk the world alone anymore.

Soon.


End file.
